


Ghosting

by ecoman12



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: DukeSaw - Freeform, F/F, Halloween, Haunted House, Heathers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 13:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16409732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecoman12/pseuds/ecoman12
Summary: Heather Duke and Veronica Sawyer explore a supposedly haunted house.





	Ghosting

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [ecoman12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecoman12/pseuds/ecoman12) in the [Heathers_Fanfic_Challenge](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Heathers_Fanfic_Challenge) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> Heather Duke and Veronica Sawyer explore a supposedly haunted house.

Veronica’s flashlight wasn’t working. She hit it against a decrepit sign that read, in big black letters, “KEEP OUT”, and the beam flickered to life, illuminating a dreary concrete sidewalk. The light sweeped up as she tilted the flashlight. Swaths of rotting wood appeared, a bright reflection of windows like eyes staring down at them. “Jesus Christ,” Veronica heard Heather Duke whisper under her breath. “Are you sure about this, Veronica?” 

“Yeah,” Veronica said cooly, but she was obviously wary. “I’m not letting Heather McNamara win this bet. Here, take my hand.” 

“Oh, why?” Heather asked, taking hold of Veronica’s hand.

“Because I want to be able to swing you in front of me like a shield,” Veronica said with a smirk. “Because I like you, silly.” 

“Oh,” Heather repeated, turning her eyes to the ground to hide her blush. 

The house was even worse up close. After walking up the sidewalk, lined with dead yellow grass, Veronica could see why this place was abandoned. It was huge, but not wide. There were probably four stories including the attic, stacked haphazardly on top of each other like books. Most of the windows were smashed in, and any remaining were covered in a membrane of mystery gunk. A single light bulb swung in a nonexistent breeze on the porch. The cherry on top was the smell, putrid and moldy like something had crawled into their nostrils and died. The stairs groaned as the two of them ascended onto the porch. 

The door was shut tight, an angry yellow condemned sign peeling from it. Veronica shoved her shoulder against it a couple of times, but it didn’t budge. “Well, great. How are we supposed to get in now.” 

There was a moment of silence as Heather slowly panned her flashlight to aim at a window near the door, intact, but maybe not for long. With a crash louder than intended, the old wooden deck chair smashed through the window. “Holy shit,” Veronica said, ogling her girlfriend as she put her jacket back on. 

Heather offered a shy smile and cleared the windowsill of any remaining glass shards. “You first.” Veronica stuck her tongue out at her and clambered through the opening. 

Soon, they were both inside, nearly back to back, flashlight beams skipping this way and that over the room. It was a sort of den, with sagging couches, the insides torn out, a lacerated rug covering the wooden floor. “I’m glad I got my tetanus shot this year,” Heather said, eyeing a batch of rusted nails, the sharp and twisted ends jutting out of a floor board, with disgust. The smell was even worse inside. Anywhere Veronica pointed her light, there was a heavy cloud of dust (or what she hoped was dust) falling like snow to the floor. It was a very small room, no bigger than Veronica’s own bedroom. Most of it was taken up by the stairs, wooden and shabby like the rest of the house. 

“This place is officially the worst,” Veronica said into the darkness. 

“God, it’s awful, why are we here again?”

“If I lose this bet, I’m out $200, and I won’t be able to pay my rent next month,” Veronica said. 

“But why am I here.”

“Support?” 

“Bullshit,” Heather said, but she smiled.

A loud clamor suddenly echoed through the house, and the two girls jumped, sweaty hands gripped together, both more on-edge then they let on. There was silence, until a rat came scurrying out of the darkness and climbed out the window. The two girls let out a collective breath. “Alright.” Veronica let out a shaky breath. She took off her backpack and pulled a camera out of it. Heather flashed a peace sign and Veronica snapped the picture, making sure to get a background of moldy couches in. 

As she finished, Veronica said, “proof of our escapade to the haunted house, photo number one.” 

“Is that not a Polaroid?” Heather asked, rounding the room to stand next to Veronica for a look. 

“No, we'll have to use the darkroom later,” Veronica said, and Heather blew a raspberry. “I need this proof to be crystal clear. I need Heather to hang this up on her wall, and everytime she sees it she’ll remember that I bested her.” 

“And you need $200?”

Veronica smiled at her endearingly. “And I need $200.” They kissed for a moment before heading to the stairs. 

“Can’t we just take some more pictures down here?” Heather asked, eyeing the splintering steps. “It’s not like Heather’ll know.” 

“Well, I’m a bit curious now,” Veronica said, taking the lead up the stairs. They whined in pain with every step, sagging pitifully. Heather reluctantly followed after her, sweeping her flashlight back and forth. 

The next floor was just as terrible as the last, if not more so. It was a kitchen so grimy and covered in black mold that they both had to cover their faces with their shirts. Heather took the picture this time, of Veronica in front of a dining table missing three of its legs. 

“This place reeks,” Heather said, her face twisting in a grimace. 

“I dunno, I like it. The decor is very tasteful.” Veronica put her hand beneath the word “HELP ME” scratched in frenzied caps like she was a waiter holding up a tray of food. Heather laughed and took a picture. 

Someone knocked on the door. 

Heather jumped so badly she nearly dropped the camera. “Oh, Jesus, it must be the cops. Someone heard us smash that window.” 

“Well, let’s just not answer,” Veronica said, going over to the window and attempting to see the front door. It was blocked by the overhang above the porch, and the dirt on the window made it hard to see anything.

“But they might search the house.”

“I don’t see a police car.”

“What?”

Veronica waved her over and pointed out the hazy window. The street was empty besides Veronica’s car, nothing but an abandoned lot across the way. 

“Huh.” 

“This place is, what, ten miles away from any civilization?” Veronica turned away from the window. “Committed police officer?” Heather was silent. 

There were more knocks, more urgent and loud now. Veronica grabbed onto Heather’s arm. 

“Hey,” said a voice in both their ears, and they screamed simultaneously. “What are you doing here…?” The voice was loud, yet it whispered, and there was something familiar about it. Both Veronica and Heather’s faces were drained of color. They ran toward the stairs to go back down, but they had completely caved in, blocking any access to the lower floors. The voice kept crawling into their ears, saying, “are you lost?” They ran up the stairs to the next floor, a bedroom with mattresses shoved to one corner of the room. They kept running, ignoring the odd symbols carved into the floor. 

The final room, a storage space, was tightly packed with boxes. They didn’t know what they were running from, but they ran, and eventually hid behind a wall of plastic containers, holding each other in a tight and shaking embrace. 

There was silence for many moments. Heather’s rigid grip on Veronica’s arms loosened ever so slightly. 

“You heard that voice too, right?” Veronica asked, her mouth dry.

“Y-yeah,” Heather replied.

“Okay, just making sure.” And she held her closer. 

“What are you guys talking about,” the voice said. Veronica’s flashlight dropped from her hands and flickered off. With trembling hands, she picked it up and switched it on. The brown side of a box stared at them. 

“Who are you?” Heather asked the dusty air. 

“I’m surprised you don’t recognize me,” the voice whispered, tickling their ears. “Offended, even.” 

Veronica covered her ears and shouted, “stop it!” 

A few minutes passed, and the voice was silent. Veronica’s face was covered in her hands. Heather pulled them away. “Come on,” she said softly, “we have to get out of here.” Veronica accepted the help and together they ran for the stairs. The steps, that had been just moments ago collapsed, were inact now, decrepit and creaky, but able to hold weight. Veronica and Heather didn’t question this. They ran down the stairs. 

“Where are you going?” the voice asked with mock disappointment. “Are these accommodations not good enough for you?” 

“Get out! Not again!” Veronica shouted in anguish. Heather had to pull her along until she couldn’t anymore. Veronica had plopped down onto the steps, curling into herself like a wilted flower. 

Heather heard footsteps running around them, loud knocking on the door, the broken shutters on the windows flapping in an imaginary hurricane. She ignored all this though, and in the chaos, she spoke softly. “Veronica, look at me.” 

“I think you’re bothering her,” the voice chided, and Heather ignored it.

“Baby, come on.” Heather pulled on Veronica’s hands, and they fell from her face. “Let’s get out of here.” Veronica lifted up her face, the flashlight reflected off the tears on her cheeks. Heather grasped her hand and they stood up. One step at a time, they exited the house. The footsteps faded, the shutters closed, there was no one at the door. 

Soon they were far enough away that Veronica was able to calm down. Heather was driving, headlights piercing the seemingly impenetrable darkness. They arrived at Veronica’s apartment, Veronica plopping herself down on the couch with a deep sigh of relief. She heard the keys jangle as Heather put them down, and watched her come into the room. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Heather asked, lifting Veronica’s legs, ducking under them to sit and letting them fall back down across her lap. Veronica was silent for a moment. 

“I recognized the voice,” she finally said. 

“Who was it?” 

“JD.” 

Heather looked dubious. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.” 

Heather was still hesitant, but the look of conviction in Veronica’s eyes made it hard to doubt. “So what does that mean?”

Veronica shook her head. “I don’t know.” 

Heather’s worry was mounting. Hearing JD didn’t seem to her a good thing in any light. She looked at Veronica, arms folded tight, staring at the ceiling of her cheap apartment. She was shaken, and there was fresh regret and sadness, but there was something else in her face…longing? The bitter bile of anger and envy rose is Heather. She moved Veronica’s legs and stood. “I’m going home,” she said curtly. “Goodnight, Veronica.” 

“Heather?” Veronica sat up, surprised. “Wait—” 

Without another word, Heather slammed the door outside the apartment. She had no car, so she walked home, stewing in resentment.


End file.
